Don't Look Back
by Maidenstear
Summary: "Don't look back," the wind whispers, so she wipes away her tears and stands up again. Hints of Chihaku. Only hints, though.


Aneko: Yay! I'm venturing into Spirited Away, one of my favorite of Myazaki-san's movies! Please enjoy my tentative oneshot. And if you don't like it? Well…I hope you find something more enjoyable to read.

Disclaimer: I sadly do not own Spirited Away. It belongs to Hayao Miyazaki. Or should I say Studio Ghibli? Gah! So confused!

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Don't Look Back

"Will we meet again sometime?" She asks uncertainly, large brown eyes searching his hopefully.

"I'm sure we will," he says warmly.

"Promise?"

"Promise. Now go—and don't look back."

She lets go of his hand, and his words chase her back to the other side, to the tunnel and beyond, whispering in her ear.

"_Don't look back."_

She steps out bravely, that first day, to a new school and hopefully new friends. She's a little nervous, but still she straightens her back, raises her head high, and walks in the entrance with a smile.

It does not go the way she had hoped it would. When she gets home, to the new, unfamiliar house, she runs upstairs and locks herself in her room, sitting at the window that looks out over a small stream. The water makes her think of him, and she is slightly comforted.

She was not teased, but in this smaller town she is an outsider. It makes her even more sorely aware of how much she misses the old house and ache for even a touch of familiarity. She thinks of her old school, her friends in the old town. She thinks of a Bath house.

She thinks about going back—going out the door, jumping the fence and running up the old road until she reaches the tunnel.

Outside, the trees rustle, as though shaking their heads at her and telling her: _No_.

"_Don't look back_," the wind whispers.

And she listens. She nods obediently and wipes a few lonely tears from her eyes, going downstairs to tell her mother that her first day went fine.

She never told them—her parents—about that journey to the other world. She was afraid that if she did, it would scare them into moving again. She had seen enough of real life to know that there are some things that aren't supposed to exist. And normal people aren't supposed to talk about these things. If she tells her parents, she thinks they won't believe her. She doesn't want to leave—she wants to stay near the tunnel, close to the other world. But also, it feels somehow taboo to talk about her experiences there, like talking would make them less real somehow.

So she locks up those cherished memories and throws out the key, and doesn't tell a soul.

The next morning it is a little harder. She hesitates before leaving the house, wishing she did not have to face the day; but the wind whispers to her, _'Don't look back,'_ and somehow she sets foot out the door shakily, like a newborn calf.

It wasn't as hard as she was expecting this time. Some of the girls in class had started noticing her—today they had eaten lunch together.

When she gets home, she goes to the back of the house to sit on a rock by the creek. She pours out her joy to the always-listening water, and the winds murmur encouragingly.

"_Don't look back,"_ they tell her.

Days go by.

At night, she dreams of spirits and pigs and a boy with green hair and dragon eyes.

Memories never fit together quite right after they originally happen, and they begin to slowly fray around the edges. She knows she will start to forget, but she will never truly lose everything. That, she knows, is impossible. It has become a part of the very core of who she is.

Time passes. Leaves burn to red on trees before dying, falling from branches. The wind scrapes across bare bark, making the trees shiver and wish for spring.

Becoming acclimated takes time. Already the leaves come back, green and full and new, and she is just beginning to feel accepted. She still listens to the wind, and sits at the stream to whisper her stories.

Winter comes again. She decides that the season saddens her. She doesn't like the deadness of the world—it makes her feel alone, and far away from the place that lies in her memories. She goes to the back of the house, crunching through new snow, to poke holes in the ice-encrusted surface of the stream, just so that she can listen to the water.

She is ready with a smile to greet the leaves when they return.

More time passes. Four times she watched the world gray and die. Four times the world birthes again. With it all, she begins to understand things, and she knows why she must not look back.

She has all sorts of experiences, some good, others not. There are many good days, but there are still some rough spots. It's so hard when those spots come along, because it's hard to breathe. There's a tightness in her chest, and she feels like she's suffocating.

Like always, she runs to the stream and, her head low and her back bent, she seeks reassurance.

"Can I be weak, just for a moment?" She whispers to the wind. "Can't I give up, just this once?"

"_Don't look back_," the wind whispers back.

So she gets up, the tears still running down her face, and keeps going. Face-forward, she walks with her head up, her eyes bright.

After all, it's impossible to walk forward if you're looking back. What you look forward to in the future can't be found in the past.

And someday, while looking forward into those bright, promising days, she waits for the day when she'll again meet a boy with dragon eyes.

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Aneko: So I started writing this, and near the end kind of forgot about it. It's been sitting on my computer for a few months.,,Oh well. Better late than never, right? Please review if you liked it. Really. Please.


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